


Loving you is a dangerous game

by dreams_for_spring



Series: Tied up in all of you [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Jon here is definitely not a boy scout, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sneaking around behind the Starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreams_for_spring/pseuds/dreams_for_spring
Summary: “Do you want some?” Sansa asks with a handful of popcorn offered out to him, and her face quirked up into a knowing smile.She’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, wearing this pretty white romper with fabric ties in the back. His eyes keep drifting to them, wondering if he can untie them with his teeth.He thinks he can.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Tied up in all of you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765732
Comments: 14
Kudos: 93





	Loving you is a dangerous game

**Author's Note:**

> Despite my attempts to rewrite this, in the end all it wants to be is shameless fluff and smut. I hope you enjoy anyway, and heed that this is explicit.

It’s been two weeks since Jon started whatever this is with Sansa, and each day is more exquisite torture than the last. He can’t count the number of times that her parents, Cat and Ned, have nearly walked in on them since then, pushed up against a wall in a closet or around a corner in the hallway, his thigh pressed hard between her legs. Sometimes he thinks she pulls him in to kiss her at the most inopportune times on purpose – that maybe she likes the thrill of it all, sneaking around on her parents right beneath their noses.

They're playing with fire though, because he’s certain to get kicked out of the house if they get caught. He knows that instead he should be careful, should respect Sansa’s parents and just be thankful for the place to stay – even if it comes with glares like daggers from Cat.

There’s something else though in his mind that rebels against that notion, that prefers the thrill of when he places his hand on her thigh under the table at dinner to discover what’s underneath those short dresses of hers. He loves teasing his way up her leg, feeling her thighs tighten under his attention, relishing in skin so hot it’s like a brand against his fingers; all the while watching the strain of her face as she tries to maintain composure.

The ease to which she has taken to this arrangement – her ability to feign as though nothing is amiss – is enough to make him wonder if Sansa is not as innocent as she appears to be. Other times, when she wears skirts so short that the wind lifts them to show him a dazzling array of cotton and lace panties, he is certain that she is not and his cock twitches at the sight – at the mere thought of what lies beneath.

Jon has been careful not to push any limits though; he’s determined to take things slow with Sansa, make sure she’s comfortable with all the things they do. He’s a fair few years older than her, and after the string of boyfriends she’s had over the past few years he is extra careful to go at the pace that she wants to go. If all he ever is is an experiment, a way for her to discover herself and feel comfortable again – well, it’s not really what he wants, but he’ll take what he can get.

He remembers the first time Sansa had snuck him into her bedroom a week ago, and he had lain over her, his weight offset by his arms. Her eyes had been stained dark by the dim shadows cast from the table lamps on each side of her bed. He remembers thinking that he could drown in her, fold in on himself and hide in the deep ocean of her eyes; lose himself in the crescent of her smile.

She’d been wearing matching silk pajama shorts and a shirt that skated softly against his skin beneath him, and when her hips hiked up and her legs wrapped round his middle for friction, he’d discovered that was all she was wearing, and nothing else.

That night she’d let him kiss her breasts through the smooth, thin fabric and later, underneath it. He’d tickled a trail down past the waistband of her shorts, and dipped his fingers into her cunt for the first time. He’d silently admonished himself because the Starks were only a hallway away and he knew they were making too much noise, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Now that he knows what she looks like – what she sounds like when she comes – he’ll never get enough, and he’s been there almost every night since.

On the nights he doesn’t sneak into her room he still fists himself to the thought of her, to the memory of her barely restrained mewls and moans, to the way she pulls him into closets and bathrooms even when the Starks are home, and he has to cover her mouth to keep from making a sound.

He knows that this sneaking around heightens everything that they do, thinks that’s at least half the reason why Sansa has gone crazy enough to let him do all the things he does to her. Maybe this is all a game to her; but that’s okay because he’s finding he enjoys this game, enjoys the thought that maybe he’s corrupting her, that maybe she wants him to too.

Even though he knows this game that they’re playing can only end one way, he can feel himself slowly spiraling out of control. Sometimes his mind plays tricks on him, and sees things it shouldn’t, reads into things too far. Like two nights ago when she told him that she never wanted this to end and fell asleep nestled in his arms. Those kinds of things give him hope, and that’s a dangerous thing to a man like him, who’s spent the past few years gradually losing everything he has. 

He can feel his mind conjuring up a thousand images, each more painful and perfect than the last; of Sansa telling him that she’s falling for him too, of telling her family how they really feel, of her moving in with him into a small one bedroom apartment, with a freezer filled with lemon popsicles. He dreams of rebuilding his life with her, of being the kind of man that she needs. He knows it’s too soon to think any of these things – it’s only been two weeks – and yet somehow the dark recesses of his mind conjure up these thoughts all the same.

Today, both Cat and Ned are away at work and doing errands, and Jon and Sansa finally have the house to themselves once more. After all the sneaking around, it’s a heady feeling to know that they don’t need to be quiet for this once. Somehow it raises the stakes even more, and Jon can see that in the fire in Sansa’s eyes.

“Do you want some?” Sansa asks with a handful of popcorn offered out to him, and her face quirked up into a knowing smile.

She’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, wearing this pretty white romper with fabric ties in the back. His eyes keep drifting to them, wondering if he can untie them with his teeth.

He thinks he can.

Jon pulls her hand in by the wrist, firm pressure measuring the beats of her heart, constant and fierce. It might be his favourite thing about her – a storm hidden below a mile of soft rolling waves, a part of her that only he gets to see.

He leans in and pulls the kernels from her palm with his tongue, letting them dissolve in his mouth before he chews. She moves to pull her hand back, but he resists, holding her in place. His tongue moves slowly along her palm, licking every inch clean of butter and salt, and sure enough that heart of hers skips a beat and begins to pound heavy against his fingers.

“It’s delicious,” he manages to rasp out before his mind loses the ability to speak. At times like these he can pretend that he is smooth, that there is some sort of illusion that he is in control, and not her. He thinks she likes that part of it, and ties that thought up with a neat bow to explore some other day.

“The popcorn, or me?” She replies, her eyes combing down his body to take in his shirtless torso. He can see her pretty tongue peek out and lick her lips, can feel her fingers tremble as they sit in his firm grasp.

Jon takes advantage of the moment to push her back against the counter lightly, to let his body bracket her in. He lets her adjust to the feel of him against her, hot skin and unyielding muscle angled hard against the cool linen of her romper, the soft swell of her breasts.

With a small twist of his free hand, he moves to tuck stray strands of auburn behind her ear, letting his fingers brush against that sensitive part of her neck. Her cheeks flush and her skin turns to gooseflesh, before her hands dive into his hair and pull him forward to kiss her. 

In less than a minute, he has her legs wrapped tight around his middle and both their lips are kiss-bruised and bright red. Her breath is coming in short, staccatoed pants that land hot against the crook of his neck, and his mind is lost to all reason, every nerve in his body singing to the song of her touch and her kiss, and _gods, what must she taste like?_

The farthest they’ve gone so far are the nights she comes to his fingers inside her, tight and wet and hot all around him, and he tries to tell himself there’ll be time for everything else, but now the thought of her perfect tight cunt and how it must taste is lodged within his mind and he cannot make it leave.

Before his mind can convince him it’s a terrible idea, he hoists Sansa up, locking her legs round his waist, and carries her to the kitchen table. He sets her down on the table, knowing full well it’s in view of the door, knowing he’ll have only seconds to act if they hear the key in the lock.

But maybe that’s half of why he’s doing it; for the way she is biting at her lip when she looks from him to the door, for the redness that’s spreading across her high cheekbones and disappearing below the white linen covering the nape of her neck.

“What if we get caught?” Sansa breathes, nails drawing circles along his bare back, tracing taut muscles down until they dip below his shorts.

Jon leans in to nip at that sensitive area along her neck, relishing in the way she bucks against him as he does, her cunt blunting against his cock through far too many fabrics to be fair. “What if we don’t?” He counters.

Her eyebrows raise and that beautiful kiss-swollen mouth of hers opens to say something, but no words come out. Instead, she pulls his hands to the ties behind her that hold the romper in place.

“Please,” she whimpers, gesturing for him to untie her.

“I have a better idea."

His words are rough and half a growl as he pulls her up and spins her around so her stomach is flat against the table, the delicate ties bared open for him. He holds her hands gently over her head and leans over to nibble at the back of her neck, enjoying every little mewl she makes, and the way her ass grinds up against his cock.

“You’re a tease,” she breathes, testing the restraint of her hands. He tightens his grip ever so slightly, watches the way she squirms delightfully under him.

Jon leans down and bites at the first tie, pulling the knot loose with his teeth and tongue. “No more than you.”

Each tie comes loose like the first, revealing more of her skin to him, tanned by the sun and covered in a soft smattering of freckles. He reminds himself that another day he will take the time to map each one with his tongue until she is so wet that she is begging him for more – for his cock, for him to take her like he dreams of.

Sansa turns her head slightly to gaze at him, her eyes a perfect blue, hair falling in ribbons around her face, bottom lip tucked neatly underneath her teeth. “What are you going to do to me on this table, Jon Snow?”

“I’d like to taste your cunt, if you’ll let me.” Her cheeks do not disappoint him, turning a sinful shade of red; and though she feigns a sort of surprise at his words, she can’t hide the smile painted across her face.

“You’re a wicked man,” she replies, as he twists her around to face him, planting her firmly on the table. _It’s true, I am,_ he thinks as he peels the romper down to reveal a pretty buttercream bra and matching panties that he pretends she's worn just for him.

He lets the romper fall discarded to the floor, and runs his fingers down her stomach, down past her panties, to feel how wet she already is for him. “Maybe, but I think you like it.”

Sansa tilts her head back and lets out a half-laugh, half-moan, her legs falling loose around his shoulders as he kneels down between her legs. Up close now he can see just how wet she is too – the sight of thin cotton soaked through is almost enough to make him lose control.

He looks up from between her legs to see her face, gauge her reaction. Her cheeks are still flushed and her lips are still soft and kiss-swollen, but her gaze is intense, eyes dark with something he’s not sure he’s seen in her before. It's enough to make him pause, his fingers freezing half-curled into the waistband of her panties.

“Are you sure you want this?”

She gives him a sort of defiant smile, hands moving to unhook her bra and throw it on the floor next to her romper, and finally he recognizes the darkness as desire, and his body relaxes one more.

"Yes," she replies with a voice somewhere between a song and a sigh.

It’s all the permission he needs to continue, to pull those cotton panties down her long legs and look at her finally, for the first time in daylight. She's too beautiful for words; he hopes that he can convey it with his touch and his tongue instead.

He begins by kissing lightly up her thighs, making her comfortable, tightened muscles loosening until she is a wave of molten heat rocking up against him. He begins to kiss ever closer to her center, letting his tightly cropped beard tickle against smooth skin to make her giggle.

Her giggles die in her throat and are replaced by a sharp moan when his tongue swipes up, dipping inside soft folds to finally taste her. His hands move to hold her hips down as she squirms and moans beneath him. She tastes sweet like the lemon pies she always has made for her on her birthday, except better because it's Sansa, and he knows that he shouldn't be doing this – not with her, and certainly not here.

He can’t wait to do more with her, can’t wait to listen to the way she’ll moan for his cock instead of his fingers and tongue if she lets him – but for today, watching her fall apart with his mouth between her thighs and her legs splayed open on the dining room table will more than suffice.

“Do you know how sweet you taste?” He manages to say, before her hands move to grip his hair and hold him in place. Her only answer is a moan, and he looks up to see her eyes closed, mouth half-open in pleasure.

His tongue delves deeper inside, and Sansa lets out another cry, her hands winding deep into his curls to hold him fast to her. Her hands pull so hard that he feels pinpricks on his scalp, causing him to groan into her; a low rumble that makes her mewl.

He moves to lick and suck at her clit, pushing first one, then two fingers deep inside, trying to find the spot that makes her say his name.

“Jonnn,” she cries out soon after, his name long and slow in her mouth. It’s a terrible thing, to love his name on her tongue as much as he does, to relish in the way it echoes off the ceiling of the otherwise silent house. He doubles down his efforts, wondering how loud he can make her cry, make her scream his name if he can.

His tongue begins to lick at her with wide, fast strokes, fingers set at a hard pace. She reaches a point where his name and please are the only words that leave her lips, and he is only happy to oblige. Her thighs have begun to tighten around his head, and he can feel her tightening around his fingers too.

Part of him is proud that she’s so close to her peak already; that between his tongue and his fingers, and that they’re doing this on her dining room table, he has her on the brink already. Another part of him though wants to take his time, make it last for hours, listen to her moans echo off the walls and fill the whole house with her pleasure while they still can. He knows they don't have time for that though.

Her hands tighten in his hair, holding him against her so tight it almost hurts, and he begins to fuck her even harder with his fingers until her legs begin to tremble.

“Please Jon, please,” she murmurs desperately, praise and expletives in turn falling from those pretty lips of hers. She lets out a final cry that hums in his head like a song on repeat, and Jon knows that he’ll never forget the sound.

Gently, he removes his fingers, kissing her thighs as he moves to stand above her. Her face is flushed and her hair is mussed, and she’s never looked more beautiful in her life. 

“Did you like that?” He dares to ask, when he bends over to collect her clothes and hand them to her.

Sansa brings him in close and pulls his lips to hers. Kissing her like this, knowing that she can taste herself on his tongue, is almost as close to bliss as he has ever come.

“I wish we could do it again,” she breathes out in answer.

He sneaks a look at the clock on the wall and curses. He wishes they could too, but there isn’t time – Ned and Cat are due home any minute.

Despite the time, her hand reaches out to palm him through his shorts, causing him to buck up against her in surprise.

“I better hop in the shower,” he manages to grind out, eyes half-closed and unfocused as she continues to stroke up and down his length. It's almost sad how much she winds him up, how desperate he is now; like he's a toy under her thrall.

“Maybe I could come with?”

Her tone is so innocent that it almost makes him certain he’s heard her wrong. Except one of her eyebrows is raised ever so slightly, and her hand is still keeping pace at his cock, and he knows he’s heard her right. He also knows that he should say no and leave her alone.

Instead, Jon lifts her up into his arms and carries her to her bathroom, wondering all the way what he has done right in his life to deserve Sansa, and saying yet another prayer to the gods that they don't get caught.

* * *


End file.
